Day One Hundred Sixty-Nine

Why did I not grieve so much at my father's passing as I have at my son's? What is it that makes it so difficult to accept and understand a child being gone as understanding or accepting the death of the one who gave you life? If we are only concerned with the ego then shouldn't the death of the host be more debilitating than the death of the progeny? In either case, it's the realization of the combination of two lives creating a distinctly unique whole that transcends the idea of the loss of one of the elements that created the new.

Each generation combines the history of two others. Every time a generation creates the next, the history of the past doubles and forms a richer history for each individual. The genetics, the experiences and the capacity for understanding and feeling is multiplied. Each generation becomes a more complex version of the last with an even more complex genetic make up than the one before it. Is there a point where we will no longer feel loss and love as deeply as at this moment because it will somehow get lost in the capacity of the human spirit to experience these emotions? Will we get so saturated that we become desensitized to it all? I only know that the pain I am experiencing now could not possibly get any greater for fear of total loss of the will to live. Whh is the depth of love only realized at the cost of great loss? I am dumbfounded at he need for existence.

Day One Hundred and Sixty-Eight

Last night was the first time since Eric passed that I slept well. I awoke at 5:30am and actually felt rested and satisfied that I fully remembered the dream I was having. My dream life has always been very rich. There were times when Eric and I would relate our dreams to each other, as almost a contest of stories. It was amazing how the images that crossed our conscious lives would be broken down into their essence during those dream states. Eric always won as his dreams were so fantastical. But I had a good dream last night, being with good friends and going to the opera. I think it's why I feel so refreshed and ready to begin another day this morning.

I don't need to water today as the garden got a double dose yesterday from both Bob and I. It's nice just to sit and watch the sun come up behind the trees in the backyard, making everything glow - everything is waking up. Even Meggie is still curled up in her doghouse. I had a lot of scrap redwood from the deck Eric built out front so, I built a good size doghouse that looks like a little building you might find in an early western town - it even has a little bit of a porch. I could write "Meggie's Saloon" across it's facade and it would fit right in along the main street in Virginia City. She seems to like it. The reason I built it was because I noticed she likes to be somewhat "confined" when she sleeps. It's probably due to the fact that she is kennel trained and used to being in a kennel when sleeping. Of course now, being part of the Kvam pack, she sleeps in style - no stinking kennel for her! She is such a sweet little dog and quite a comfort for me. The last time I talked with Eric, he was here at the house and had just come back from taking Meggie for a walk, doing his laundry and eating some spaghetti. I know he and Meggie would have been great pals. That's another reason why I think I slept soundly last night - I took Meggie for a walk up C Hill after work. It always feels good to walk especially in the evening when the sun angle creates those long shadows on everything gracing the surface of this earth. It just gives everything a more dynamic presence.

Day One Hundred Sixty-Seven

Everyday I say Eric's name three times. I burn incense next to the jar of his ashes. I throw kisses at his pictures. I have a vase of flowers in the middle of all the mementos I've placed on the tv cabinet. I look at the road carved into the mountainside in Ash Canyon where the tree, standing tall above all the others, appears as a sentinel marking the spot where Eric took his last breath. How to go on? That's what I ask myself everyday. I have to remember I have a loving husband whose heart and bones, together with mine, created our sons. And to the brother and son left behind, I given up all my love, desires and wishes, for him to carry on for me as I don't have the desire to press ahead with them myself. There is no one in this world that I love more than my boys and husband. I would give anything to change places with Eric.

Flesh and blood is a powerful thing. Without the tangible, things are only as they are imagined. The world that exists outside the tangible is a mystery and sometimes a treacherous mountain to attempt to scale. I feel a great need to explore the unknown but I also wonder if I have the energy and desire. The despair I feel is debilitating and it seems the only time I can plug ahead is in the mundane tasks of daily living and of employment. Sometimes, the more mundane a task is, the more easily it is accomplished which is the exact opposite of what has sustained me over the course of the last couple of decades. The joie de vivre is now the joie de mort. One does not fear death when your child has gone before you. The only fear is that the living will not understand that the grief transcends the love you have for them. The experience of absence is not equal to the experience of presence. Absence is overwhelming. Presence is reassuring.

I do not understand this state of being which is the human life. What is the purpose of matter and energy coming together to form a being? Isn't there purpose in everything, or is all of this just a random physics experiment? How cruel to be given the experience of deep love and then have it taken away by some random act of probability. Any yet, the cruelest thing of all is to want answers to questions that no one can answer.

Day One Hundred Sixty-Six

Yes, it's been awhile and much has transpired since my last post. My garden is my solace right now and as I look out and see everything growing tall and beautiful, I wonder at the idea that I can get such pleasure out of the cycle of life and death that so beautifully plays out season after season. The sunflowers are in their glory and some have already gone to seed, sustaining the multitude of birds that show themselves this time of year. The bees are all abuzz, covering the lavender in full bloom. I've wanted to pick some of the fragrant stems but am reluctant, knowing that I might take some of the joy from the bees who are covered by an armor of pollen. They look like little Samarai busily collecting their treasure before the hints of the next season steal it away.

I look out and see all of the projects that have kept us busy over the years we have been in this house - now reaping the rewards of jobs well done. And I see Eric all over the landscape as many of the projects were begun and finished by him. From the raised vegetable beds to the castle block retaining walls and the water fountain, the new deck out front and the paving stone driveway, his handiwork is a reminder of a life that has since passed. There was the baby, the boy and the young man, who all grew up here and left their mark among the people, places and things we have left. How many, many times in my life here in Carson City have I planned my escape from this place, but now, there is no ache to leave, just an ache to be where he was and always will be. Here in the garden is my Eden. The flowers are not perfect, the weeds still grow and there are the bugs, but as in life, it is the perfect mirror of beauty that still exists in imperfection. Even though Eric had his shortcomings, I still love him so and miss him. It is as C.S. Lewis said, "[His] absence is like the sky, spread over everything."